


The notebook (but not like.... the movie)

by Whimsy_Spirit



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, nothing graphic but kinda violent, the others are mentioned but barely, tw:angry breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27878938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whimsy_Spirit/pseuds/Whimsy_Spirit
Summary: Logan has an emotional and angry breakdown after feeling ignored and useless. This is a little bit of a vent.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

I don’t quite remember how I got back to my room. I just know that for the entirety of the second half of the video, I wasn’t fully aware. I was, to use an already overused metaphor, on autopilot. I said my part and added facts and of course none of the others bothered to listen. I could lie and say I’m surprised, but lets be real. They never listen- except, of course, when they want to villainize me. 

Slamming my hand on the desk I sat at, I decided to try to get some work done in an attempt to calm down.

Opening a notebook with the plan to organize some thoughts of Thomas’, I grabbed the same blue pen I always use and got to work. I know that the work I am doing is pointless, as he will continue to ignore my guidance and make a mockery of my plans. Still, I have to do my job. Being ignored is better than being obsolete. 

I tried to ignore the shaking in my hands. 

Though I quickly realized my writing was basically illegible. My hands have shook before, plenty of times. I am not in so much denial that I cannot recognize the effects of pent-up emotion. But they haven’t shook like this. Violently and with sudden jolts punctuating seconds of vibrating. In a matter of seconds, I was incredibly angry yet again. How am I supposed to work like this? How am I supposed to get any work done while plagued by these useless emotions?

I am logical. I literally represent logic. How on earth is it possible that Thomas is such an emotional creature that even his logical side must face this many emotions? Now my anger is directed at all the unanswered questions I have. I stabbed the pen through my notebook, leaving a hole in many of the pages. Still, this was not enough. I lifted the notebook in one hand, angrily stared at it, as if it has somehow caused all my problems, and hurled it at the wall. Being made of paper, the thump it made was soft and unsatisfying. This only infuriated me more.

Caught up in my fit of rage, only able to think about all my failures and obstacles, I walked across the room and picked up the notebook again. This time, I did not throw it, only kept it in my grip as I repeatedly slammed it into the wall. Thump after thump after thump resounded in my ears, but still I was left enraged and unsatisfied. The only good thing this notebook had done in the months I had been using it was crumple pathetically as it was forced into the wall. 

Clearly, this method was not working. So I stood back from the wall, and grasped the notebook in both hands. I tore it apart easily. Of course I could, I was one of the few sides who exercised in an attempt to actually be productive and take care of my physical form. This errant thought only added to my anger. I looked at the shredded notebook in my hands, months of work rendered completely useless. I couldn’t care less. 

I crumbled to the ground, dropping the pieces of torn paper and what was left of the notebook, its metal spiral binding now bent and jagged. 

It was then I noticed the wetness on my face. Great, not only was I so pathetic that I fell victim to anger, but sadness as well? A part of my brain reminded me that anger is a secondary emotion, of course there was something behind it. I was quick to ignore this thought- I didn’t care at all. 

I laid on my side, clenching my fists in front of my face, desperately trying to pretend I wasn’t crying. But once the powerful adrenaline caused by the anger had left, I was stuck with all these emotions and no outlet. Tears streaming down my face turned to full-blown sobs. I wrapped my arms around my rib cage, feeling as it heaved with every ragged breath. I don’t know how long I cried. 

Eventually the emotion subsided. I wish I could say I felt numb. I wished to fall back into the blissful grey I had, when I was able to repress everything and pretend I was fine. Instead, I stayed, lying on the floor. Surrounded by torn paper, my clothes wrinkled and messy, my wall dented and scratched. Everything was a mess. And still, as previously stated, I couldn’t bring myself to care. Instead, I slept. 

When I woke up to the sound of my alarm, I was disappointed. I had hoped the events of the previous night were some sort of cathartic dream. I slowly stood, turned off the alarm, and got ready for my day the same way as usual. I had put extra care into my appearance, as if the others would notice if I looked less put together than usual. If they hadn’t even noticed the noises coming from my room, I doubt they would care in the slightest if my hair was imperfect or my tie not straight. Still I put in the effort, allowing myself the precious lie that they did care. 

As I left my room to face the day, I wondered how long I could last like this.


	2. MmmmMmmSpace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little happier?

I know that the difference between “light sides” and “dark sides” is purely theoretical... completely based on emotion. If you look at the functions of all the sides, we just want to help Thomas. We have the same goal. So why do I find myself jealous of the dark sides?

I guess I should give a bit of an explanation. 

Earlier this week, I had a bit of an... emotional outburst. I would not go so far as to call it a breakdown, but it was out of the ordinary. The results of this outburst were damage to my wall, damage to my notebook, damage to my mental state, and damage to my pride. I am dealing with each of these separately. The first two were easy to fix, the final two not as much. 

We were scripting a video today, and I saw some lines for Remus. No doubt he would add some of his own... comments, and we were all aware of that. But seeing what he got to say, seeing how the others responded, that was infuriating. He gets to speak his mind and they are almost forced to listen. I wonder, for a moment, if I would be listened to if I decided to also speak vulgarly and without forethought. They would write me off as, “having a bad day” or, “being in a mood,” I’m sure. The tempting thought fades away. 

Later that day I found myself in the kitchen, overhearing a conversation between Roman and Janus. I expected banter and insults, instead I heard collaboration and creativity. Some plan on where to take the channel next, what moves to make in Thomas’ life. Of course in such an important conversation they were excluding logic. Who needs reason when you have wild imagination, right? I didn’t bother to walk back to my room, I just sunk out with coffee in hand. 

All of a sudden I am much more aware of what I am missing out on by following the arbitrary role of a light side. 

I could make a list of the pros and cons of being a light side but... but that train of thought is nonsensical. How would one even be a dark side? How would the others see me, if I basically betrayed them? I know the difference is arbitrary, but they don’t seem to see it that way. My mind is messy, filled with what ifs and problems that need solving. I decide to retreat to a safer space. 

It’s a separate room I created, claiming it was my office and that working in my room didn’t give me the space I required. No one is allowed here but me. 

it wasn’t a total lie, I do work in here occasionally, when I need a completely clear mind or when I’m overwhelmed. But most often I come here to get away.

Here, in this place where good and evil and just titles for characters from fairy tales, where dark and light are just adjectives and have nothing to do with me. The room where I made the ceiling open, always a direct view to a night sky. I quickly find the moon, my old friend, who I talk to sometimes. They sit off to the side of a group of swirling stars, shining gently like a light someone left on to remind you that they are waiting for you at home. Even when it is one in the morning, they sit and wait by the window, a cold cup of coffee their only company, and they wait for you. 

Usually I am not much for metaphors, but the night sky is always inspiring. It is in this calm moment I finally have, I contemplate. Where do I go with this? Who do I want to be? And where did I put my goddamn notebook?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know if I should add more! Maybe tell me what you would like to see next, I’m happy to hear :)


End file.
